Sea Change
by Ananke
Summary: Set in the original Endgame timeline. Before returning to the Alpha Quadrant, a man speaks of his Captain.


Disclaimer: Star Trek: Voyager and all related characters owned by Paramount Studios. No copyright infringement intended.

The universe is full of good intentions, you know.

I don't think any of us have ever questioned that those are what the Captain has, even if evidence has suggested otherwise at times. There have been chinks in the armor. Age and experience have eroded a little of the rose-colored glass effect you hear about so often. At times, we've doubted her logic, her decisions, even her sanity. But then, at times, she's doubted us.

Memory often fails, but the words she spoke on the bridge that day we began our journey home still stay vivid. She's never given in, never lost that idealistic streak that has lifted us above and beyond so many of the conflicts that should never have been survived. Under her command, they've not only been survived-they've been _won_. Some say that it's nothing to be written about, that it's just her job. I guess those are the people who have already forgotten that their hero was never meant for command, for laurels. She was, and still is, a born scientist. The mantle of leadership has been something thrust upon her more than once, a beast of burden fought as much as embraced.

There aren't many people left who still see the human side of Kathryn Janeway.

We began taking dinners together somewhere in the eighth year. By that point, the Paris-Torres family routine was a three-tiered circus best left undisturbed, and the Commander and Seven spent most off hours in his quarters. I'm sure it made Seven more comfortable, indulging in the quiet habits of courtship away from social expectation. It just didn't leave the Captain and I with any companionship of our own. The dinners weren't even exactly what you could call a perfect substitute. We didn't speak, Neelix wasn't there to nudge conversation along and when we were in the mess Chell was too preoccupied with his only marginally better cooking. Mostly, we were just there.

The ninth year was one of sea change.

Tuvok refused to play kal-tow anymore. Losing in itself had clearly been disturbing to him, but apparently losing more than winning became intolerable. We all knew by then, about the degenerative brain disease, but he hid the effects well and it was a distant matter. Looking back, now I regret respecting him too much and not letting myself lose more often than I did. The Captain put up a hell of a fight at the chess table, but she wasn't Tuvok. Still, compared to the rest, it was petty upturn.

Despite warnings, we headed into Fen Domar territory. _No more short-cuts_, she said, as though we had been taking anything else. It was impossible to ignore the sense of urgency in her every word, every movement. Somewhere, between Voyager's second child and most unexpected relationship, the hourglass had turned. I didn't try to understand why. I just did my job.

She was happy for them, don't think otherwise. I mean, sure there was a little-envy, if you want to go there. But Seven was the closest thing she had to a daughter and she loved Chakotay just enough to wish him happiness, that elusive thing she wasn't capable of providing there, then. She was heroic enough to make the sacrifice and host the ceremony with a smile more radiant than any we had seen in years.

A few months after the ceremony, there was an away mission. Seven wasn't supposed to be there. Chakotay-that's the only thing about this whole hellish journey that still sickens me, the thought of how she died in the Commander's arms. Men, human men, aren't meant to survive that pain. Not without altering irrevocably. He did.

Afterward, the Captain tried to reach out, more than once. She offered friendship, offered whatever he wanted. Of course it was bound to fail. All he wanted was his wife back, the few promising months of laughter and hope. In the face of the cold reality that his late life second chance was gone forever, Chakotay became a broken man, and there was nothing to be done to mend him.

She hated feeling helpless.

Maybe it sounds a little arrogant, but-at least there's been one thing I could offer her-a sense of power over something. That has to be what it is. I wouldn't go so far as to call it love. By now, that's an emotion as foreign as happiness to her. We've worked together, we've dined together, and occasionally, when the number of years in the Delta Quadrant have out-weighed the years of protocol drilling, we've had sex. I've never thought of reading more into it. It wouldn't get me anything but hell. Women like Kathryn Janeway aren't the type you plan to take home to your mother, plan to settle down with. You take what you get until you're too tired to take more, and then you try to move on.

I don't compare myself to Chakotay.

We're leaving this quadrant, and I've got plans. Twenty-three years is a long wait, but I've got reason to think my career can still go somewhere beyond this. I think it's important, you see, that someone be out there to hold out the banner. _We did it. If we survived two decades out there, you can survive anything. _Someone has to be there to remind the kids like Naomi and Miral that.

Maybe I just hate feeling helpless.

This is the end.

FINIS


End file.
